


family and picture frames

by lockwoodstie (PilotInTheStars)



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Gen, New Decor for Portland Row
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilotInTheStars/pseuds/lockwoodstie
Summary: After the skirmish at the Fittes House, 35 Portland Row has to be put back together, and there's a few new decorations to be added.-Written for the Lockwood and Co. Server's 2020 Secret Santa Exchange.
Relationships: (Briefly) Lucy Carlyle & Holly Munro, Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	family and picture frames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormwalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwalkers/gifts).



> It's been a little while since I've posted some Lockwood fic!
> 
> Written for Storm for the Secret Santa Exchange. Love you and I hope you have a wonderful holiday!
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3

After the skirmish at the Fittes House, 35 Portland Row had to be put back together. 

It was strangely melancholy and yet invigorating, putting our old home back together. Gale and Fittes’ other lackeys had wreaked havoc on their warpath up to Jessica’s room, where our portal had been. 

Everything had to be cleaned up. The phone was ringing nonstop, and we penciled in new cases as fast as we could, though at that moment, the last thing on our minds was new cases. A recent trip to the Other Side had left us wanting to spend some time with the land of the living. 

It was a lazy afternoon at Portland Row. We had slept most of the morning and we had the afternoon all to ourselves, seeing as we had no work in the evening. Holly and Quill were away and George was up in his room with some new reading. It was quiet. 

Seeing as I was bored, I went looking for Lockwood, only to find him in Jessica’s room.

All of the Sources had been cleaned up by DEPRAC, leaving the room far barer than it had been recently, and even though the various items were gone, the bedroom had become our base of operations for storing items, until we remade it into a guest room. 

I opened the door and stepped in the room, past the few paint cans and rollers, to stand next to Lockwood, who was surveying the contents inside a small cardboard box. 

He looked up and grinned at me, and I could feel my cheeks flush.

“What’s in there?” I asked, moving closer. 

“Some photographs,” Lockwood said, as I looked inside the box. 

Sure enough, there were dozens upon dozens of photographs, well over a decade old, all of the Lockwood family. My mind vaguely recalled the photo of his parents he had shown us last year. 

Broaching the topic of Celia and Donald Lockwood seemed a little less daunting than before, before he discovered their last lecture and learned the truth about what had happened to them, and him feeling comfortable enough to share it with me. 

“I knew these were up here but I haven’t looked over them in years. Since we’re going through the whole room, I might as well go through them again.”

Lockwood picked up a particular photograph. His mother was sitting in an armchair, his father standing behind her. Jessica stood to the side, and on Celia’s lap was a little toddler, a head full of dark hair and a giant grin on his face. He was recognizable in an instant. 

“This one stood out to me,” he said, slipping it into a pocket of his coat. 

He turned around and walked over to the paint cans while I ran a hand through the photos. I never thought I’d see a baby photo of Lockwood in my life, but stranger things had happened in the past few weeks. I went to join him.

“This colour should be nice,” Lockwood said. 

“Holly has quite a few opinions on how this room should be decorated.”

“I’ve heard.” He smiled at me. “Did I tell you about the newspaper?”

I raised a brow.

“They’ve asked to come to do a whole article, they want a picture of us in the garden.”

“When?” I asked. 

“Tomorrow before lunch. That reminds me, I’ve got to find George and tell him. Do you know where he is?”

“In his room for research.”

“Ah yes. Didn’t expect any different.” He gave me that traditional Lockwood smile and continued on his way.

* * *

I was sitting at the table in the kitchen, observing some of George’s new drawings on the thinking cloth, with a plate of toast and a mug of tea, when Holly found me a few mornings after, reminding me of the journey we needed to take to Mullet’s for iron filings and new rapiers, which Lockwood deemed as somewhat necessary after “a remarkably excellent few weeks.”

“Just give me a minute,” I told her, and I went quickly up to my little attic room to grab the coat I had left up there on accident. On my way back down the last flight of stairs, something caught my eye on the wall, something new. 

Previously, the walls had been lined with the various items from the collection of Celia and Donald Lockwood after their many travels, and many of them were still hanging on the walls, but a new spot had been made, with a bright new frame, containing the photo we had taken in the garden for the newspaper. 

I vaguely remembered Lockwood’s quick steps to the photographer to ask him a question, and I couldn’t help but beam looking at the photo, looking at us, looking at Lockwood and Co. 

Our family. 

And I could have stared at it for a while longer, if not for Holly calling my name. I turned on my heel and headed back down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you celebrate anything this time of year, I hope your holiday was wonderful. And here's to a hopefully great 2021!
> 
> ((For a hint about what happened to the photo Lockwood slipped into his pocket, check out "i will think it's magic" ;) ))


End file.
